


One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

by idelthoughts



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3530885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of 1x16, Jo starts to worry about Henry.  For a guy who just started dating someone, Henry's talking about his ex-wife an awful lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

About five days after The Return of Molly Dawes—and given the way it had rattled Henry’s cage, the event earned itself a proper title—Jo started to worry.

Work was the same, Henry as bright and efficient as usual, if not more so. He threw himself into cases with his usual zeal.

And that was it.

She couldn’t get a word out of him about anything other than dead bodies, toxins, and murder. Any time he saw a question coming he dodged it, either scooting away with excuses about things he needed to attend to, or beating her to it with a new subject that needed tackling. 

It wasn’t that she was nosy or desperate to know all about Henry’s personal life, but the radio silence was a little disturbing. It’s not like he was an open book, but she’d gotten used to having his confidence. But maybe this was Henry with a girlfriend. Lots of people did that, just dropped off into nothing as soon as they had someone in her lives. She’d be disappointed if that was it. She’d imagined he wouldn’t be someone who’d ditch friends, given how slow he was to make them.

Well, she thought they were friends. Who knew what Henry thought.

But it wasn’t a complete closed door, because there were moments here and there where little things came trickling out.

“I used to come here frequently,” Henry said one day, looking around the Belgian chocolatier shop. 

He straightened from where he was examining the body of the shop keeper and eyed the case of hand-crafted chocolates next to them.

“Got a thing for chocolate?” she asked, still trying to scribble down all the notes he’d spouted in his initial assessment. “Secret sweet tooth?”

“No, Abigail loved chocolate. The darker the better.” He stooped down to look through the glass into the casing, scanning the chocolates. “I’m not certain they still make her favourite.”

She paused writing and glanced up at him, at the frown and drawn brows of his features, as though what he was looking for was as important as the clues to finding their murderer. There was something in the tone of his voice that set an alarm bell ringing, but he quickly dropped it and set back to discussing the circumstances of the body’s position relative to the murder weapon—a giant paddle used for stirring chocolate, still dripping when someone had smacked the shop owner in the head, leaving him a bloody, chocolatey mess. She was pretty sure she wasn’t going to be eating any chocolate for a while.

Another day, she caught him smiling fondly as they walked through a mall on their way back from another crime scene. Some old song was playing, lots of brass and strings, and he tilted his head upward as though to better hear it. 

“You know this?” she asked.

“This is the first song Abigail and I danced to.”

She said nothing, but she couldn’t help her frown. It was a bit nice he was a little less tight-lipped about the whole ex thing, but there was a warmth to his memories that felt unusual given his situation. Probably not a great time to be dipping into the fond memories of your ex-wife when you just started a relationship up.

 _If_ he had started a relationship with Molly. He certainly hadn’t mentioned her at all in this past week. Henry had sat with Molly for a long time in the hospital and Jo had driven him home afterwards, but he’d said precious little before thanking her quietly and going into the antiques store without a backwards glance.

The third time it happened, when he had a fond smile on his face when touching the fabric of a victim’s dress—and she was starting to recognize the look now, it had a very specific quality—she was determined to ask.

“Abigail?”

“Yes, she—“ He cut off and looked up at her from his crouched position, but then blanked and stood quickly. “Our victim was mildly intoxicated, though not overly so, and I suspect she knew her killer, given there was no sign of forced entry. In fact, I believe she had a drink or two with her killer before he attacked her.”

“Hm.” She examined him carefully. “So how’s things with Molly?”

Henry swivelled around towards her, his expression neutral. After a moment he reluctantly answered her.

“We decided our paths lay in different directions.”

“We? I thought Molly was pretty into you.” Henry didn’t answer the pointed question, merely crouched down again to pack up his tools. “Henry, is everything okay?”

“Of course.”

“Did something happen?”

“Jo,” he said quietly, his tone definitive as he looked at her. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”

And so the conversation was ended as abruptly as it had begun, and Jo was left with the distinct feeling that they’d gone reeling backwards in time. Or, that Henry had. So much for moving on. 

Whatever had happened when Abigail left him, it must have been a showstopper.


End file.
